


Summer's in the air// heaven's in your eyes

by Death_inspiresme



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Barely Legal, Coming In Pants, Dirty Talk, Grinding, M/M, Mutual Pining, Older Man/Younger Man, Parent Tony Stark, Peter is a Little Shit, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Kissing, Virgin Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 15:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16621805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Death_inspiresme/pseuds/Death_inspiresme
Summary: Raising a teenager isn't an easy feat, especially when you're a single dad and your good for nothing wife fucked off to Hawaii with a younger guy when your son was five; but Tony would like to say that so far he's had everything under control, maybe with a few helpful manuals to guide him along the way.But there certainly wasn't a manual on what to do  about his illicit feelings for his son Harley's best friend-- a curly haired, brown-eyed boy by the name of Peter, only sixteen and far too pretty for his own good.





	Summer's in the air// heaven's in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> *rolls into room on a tricycle* hi i brought a delivery of Unwanted and Overdone Au?
> 
> But seriously, huge thanks to the anon who sent in this request because i've fallen in love with this trope and have decided to make a whole multi-chaptered fic out of it because i'm extra™ like that.

  Tony likes to think he's a good man; not in a conceited, _oh-i'm-so-much-better-than-everyone_ way, but he thinks he's doing alright. He has a respectable high-end job, he's not a fucking asshole on the road most of the time, and he's doing just fine raising Harley up by himself. Being a single dad to a teenager is just as nightmarish as it sounds sometimes, sure, but for the most part he'll like to say that his son has been raised well and taken care of properly. Tony always tries to do his very best as a father-- especially after his wife had fucked off to Hawaii with some younger guy years ago.

  So yes, Tony would say he's a man with strong morals and the right values-- _would_ , being the key word here. He can't though, because last he checked wanting to fuck your son's (sixteen year old! Sixteen!!) best friend is not only unprincipled but also very illegal. The fact that what Tony's feeling is about a hundred shades of fucked up isn't lost on him, of course; he's plenty aware that yes he's being a dirty old man and yes he's heading straight to hell, but those rampant thoughts all fade away to a blanked-out mind when sweet little Peter Parker bends over the island table to grab something, perky ass indecently high up in the air. Then Tony would stare unabashedly, incapable of incoherent speech even when Harley frowns at him questionably-- and later on that night he'll jerk off in his bathroom, images of porcelain skin and lean gangly limbs flashing behind his screwed-shut eyes as he fists his cock roughly. It doesn't take long before ropes of cum stripe the bathroom tiles, the powerful spray of water overhead muffling Tony's grunt of pleasure and washing away the remnants of his sins.

  But in his defence, only a saint would be able to resist the walking temptation that is Peter, who's somehow both innocence and sin personified. Take now for example, the teen sprawled out on the floor of his living room, long gorgeous legs kicking in the air, the hem of his shirt riding up his navel to expose a tantalizing sliver of pale skin there; all while playing some kind of video game with Harley, both boys shouting at some pixelated characters on screen. Hesitant to intrude their moment, Tony clears his throat gently from the doorway of his son's bedroom; Peter catches the soft sound and looks back first, always such a perceptive kid. Those honey-brown eyes landing on him, Peter is quick to shoot him a bright smile-- the very same one he had been greeted with during their first meeting, when the then eleven year old had looked up with wide doe eyes and flashed him a shy smile, showing off the braces in his mouth; really, Tony had been doomed since the very beginning.

  
  He's been staring too long. "Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt. You guys need anything? Some food, maybe?"

  That finally catches Harley's attention. "Do you even have to ask, dad?" he scoffs, rolling his eyes in the way only teenagers can express their exasperation. "As if we'd ever turn down food."

  "Well if that's the kind of attitude you're gonna have kiddo, I'm going to have to retract my kind offer," Tony snarks back. This raises a scandalized gasp from Harley, and he can't help but chuckle at his son's antics as he leans comfortably against the door's hinges. Against his better sense his gaze flickers over to the other boy again, now sitting upright with his legs crossed and his head slightly tilted to the side. Their eyes meet for a split second before Peter turns away, cheeks coloured a bashful pink; Tony feels the beginnings of stirring heat in his gut. _Shit. Please god, don't let me get a boner in front of my own kid._ "So are you going to rein in that attitude, or am I going to have to deprive you of pizza?"

  "Okay, sorry! Jeez dad, do you gotta be so cruel?" Harley grumbles in joking lament, sticking out his tongue childishly at his father before turning back to his game. Peter merely offers a politer reply of "that'd be great, Mr Stark", that title not helping to dampen Tony's arousal even in the slightest; their gazes lock again, electrified air between them lasting for much longer before Harley nudges his friend's side none too gently and draws his focus back to the game with a little reluctance.

 

  Dinner was, at least, thankfully uneventful; Tony doesn't think he'll be able to garner any last semblance of control if Peter had maintained eye contact while licking an ice lolly, which, actually, has happened once. Tony had had to sit through ten minutes of what was practically live pornography playing out before him, the boy's pretty lips stained red with cherry syrup as he sucked around the sweet treat; cheeks hollowing and indecent noises filtering past that sticky mouth-- who the fuck even manages to pull that kind of suggestive shit off while still maintaining an air of innocence? Well apparently, his young son's best friend. Tony actually had to excuse himself to the bathroom in the middle of that meal, so aroused- like he was the goddamn teenager in that situation- that he just had to jerk one off into the toilet bowl. That wasn't his highest point, definitely.

  When Harley had suggested that 'since it's so late into the night already, why doesn't Pete stay over?' Tony's not really surprised, used to the frequent sleepovers the boys have. And besides, he can't say no to the pleading gaze and little pout Peter gives him. So with one last reminder for them to not stay up past midnight, Tony heads on up to bed-- but not before palming self to the fantasy of Peter sprawled out underneath him this time, hands fisting at his sheets as the older man fucks into him from behind and making his back arch gracefully with a hand gripping tightly onto his hair. Only then does he drift off to sleep, feeling equal parts awful and sated.

 

* * *

 

  He wakes up around two in the morning, which isn't unusual; sliding out of bed with a tired grunt, he stumbles out of his room. The boys are already asleep- honestly, he's impressed- judging from the darkness of the hallways. Padding down the stairs as quietly as possible, Tony flicks on the light in the kitchen as he fills up a glass of water from the sink and downs it in one gulp. Perhaps his senses are getting dull with age, or because he's just bleary from sleep, but he doesn't hear the soft footsteps trailing down after him, doesn't notice the other figure lingering in the shadows before approaching forward. "Mr Stark?"

  _"Jesus fuck_ \-- Peter?" Tony yelps, nearly dropping his glass, whirling around to meet the hazel pupils of the boy, glowing almost eerily under the dim light. Then he remembers just what ungodly hour it is at the moment, and quickly lowers his voice. "Christ, you scared me a little there. Everything okay?" His gaze slides against his will down Peter's lean figure, the teen clearly still in a sleepy state as evident from the droop in his shoulders, slumped in an oversized sweater, fuzzy socks and nothing else. Feeling his throat dry up at the sight, Tony swallows almost painfully.

  "Yeah, I just, um, got a little thirsty," the boy mumbles in answer, licking his cracked lips; Tony tries not to stare. Instead he busies himself with grabbing another glass of water, handing it over to Peter, who sips gratefully from it. "Thanks, Mr Stark. So... do you, I mean-- usually wake up this early in the morning?" he asks, though before Tony can answer a look of regret flashes across the boy's face; he huffs out a nervous laugh. "You know what, don't-- that's not any of my business, I'm sorry."

  "Don't be, it's perfectly alright. And yeah, my previous job required my working till late hours, so it's more a force of habit, I guess." Tony replies, leaning against the countertop. At that Peter smiles around the rim of his glass, a sweet thing which Tony easily returns. "So how have you been? With school and everything?"

  "Oh, it's been manageable. Just the usual, I suppose. Weekly examinations and all that." Peter wrinkles his nose adorably in faux disgust, and it's ridiculous how that simple act sends a flutter through the older man's stomach. "Oh, and homecoming is coming up pretty soon so that's... cool."

  "Woah there Parker, might want to curb the enthusiasm a little bit."

  The boy laughs at the tease, a softly chiming thing; finishing his drink, he shuffles forward to deposit his glass into the sink beside Tony. "Yeah, not too excited about it. I don't really understand all the hype around the whole event, to be honest." The rolled-up sleeves of his sweater pool down his arms at the movement, covering the boy's hands until just his fingertips are visible. _Fuck, he's cute,_ Tony agonizes. This is majorly unfair, who looks this pretty at two a.m?

  "Oh? So I'm assuming you're not bringing a date, then," Tony clears his throat, hoping that his voice doesn't come off strangled-- especially when the boy flushes a pink visible even in the dimness of the room at the poorly disguised question. Shit, he's probably going overboard with this; Peter's love life is not any of his fucking business, of course, but Tony can't help his curiosity and-- fine, sue him, jealousy.

  "I'm not seeing, um, anyone, at the moment," Peter mumbles, so soft the man strains to hear him; doe eyes peer up at him through fluttering lashes for a moment before falling to stare at the ground yet again. Nibbling down on a plush bottom lip, he adds, "--or ever, actually. I've never... ah. Had an interest in dating." And it's totally fucked, horrible on countless levels, but Tony can't deny the fact that the boy's revelation sends a rush of satisfaction through him-- he's fiercely pleased, possessively so. He's not a jealous man by nature; yet the mere thought of some high schooler dragging their hands over Peter, his Peter, is almost unbearable.

  "I see," Tony grunts, voice dropping to a lower pitch by several octaves even to his own ears. "Any particular reason for that?" He's painfully aware that by continuing this conversation he's stepping over not only some metaphorical line but a physical one as well, his legs moving of their own accord and carrying himself forward. Sometime during their exchange the both of them have gravitated closer, now with only mere inches of distance between them; try as he might Tony can't bring himself to move away, the urge to close whatever remaining empty space much too compelling.

  Pretty brown eyes stare up at him, glazed over with an unreadable expression; the flush colouring the younger boy's cheeks seems as though a permanent stain, a blotchy pink trailing down his neck that Tony yearns so badly to trace with both his tongue and fingers-- but he resists, holds himself back with whatever shred of self-control left. It wavers, very nearly breaks when Peter mumbles, "I guess the people at school have never caught my attention, Mr Stark. They never do."

  "Oh yeah?" Now unable to tear his gaze away, Tony stares unabashedly down at those pouty red lips, parted with every shuddering exhale of breath. "Then pray tell, what does it for you?"

  Peter hesitates only for barely a moment before admitting, "experience." The older man's breath now hitches, but words now fall free and unrestrained. "For someone to take the lead, to know exactly what to do. Someone who knows what they want, and makes me take everything they give... that's what I really want," the boy swallows, proceeding with a soft purr of "--Mr Stark."

 

  It's Peter, in the end, who makes the first move; something Tony is selfishly thankful of, if only to ease his guilt later on. As it is, all he can think about at the moment is how the boy's lips are just as soft and warm as he had imagined, sliding wetly across his in an act that screams inexperience.

  It turns Tony on more than anything else.

  All rational thinking flung out of the window and far too gone to turn back, Tony's hands fly up to grip at those bony shoulders, shoving his son's best friend up against the marbled countertop of the island table as he easily takes over the messy kiss; forcing the boy's lips open with his tongue to slide in without preamble, exploring the wet confines and mapping out Peter's mouth with greedy sweeping movements. The lithe body beneath him is so sweetly pliant, arching so responsively to his touch-- hips surging forward, the man grinds his rapidly hardening cock in between the boy's bare thighs, miles of milky skin exposed and driving the animal in Tony wild with the urge to mark all over, claim as his.  _God,_ the powerful rush of blood pounding in his ears isn't even loud enough to mask the sounds leaking from Peter's mouth, the teen is so goddamn loud. High-pitched whimpers and keening moans escape Peter, desperate little noises that, Tony now realises, drive him crazy.

  "Fuck, you needy little thing," he groans against the boy's feverish lips, feeling already half-mad with lust. "So perfect for me, wanted to do this for so long, since I first met you. Too fucking pretty to resist, sweetheart, _shit."_

  "Oh my god," Peter gasps at his words, sounding so wrecked Tony surges forward to swallow his whimpers; the need to hear those pretty noises win out though, and he breaks apart the kiss with an obscene wet pop. A low growl tears its way out of his chest at the sight of the boy's red-bitten lips, swollen and shiny with spit; pants falling softly from them. "Mr Stark, 's so good. Fuck, _mnhhh_ , p-please--"

  Cursing much too loudly, Tony dips his head forward to lick a hot stripe up the quivering column of Peter's neck, teeth nipping at his clavicle sharp enough to draw out a cry; barely stifled by the older man's hand slapping over his mouth. Because as much as he loves the high pitched almost girly sounds Peter makes- _and fuck, were they the sweetest music to Tony's ears-_ it's also barely three in the morning, and his son is just upstairs. Oh god, Harley is sleeping, blissfully unaware, while his father is shoving his tongue down his best friend's throat and practically fucking him through the layer of clothes between them.

  Tony is undoubtedly going to hell, that's for sure; but somehow he doesn't mind a single bit, not when his sin is begging so prettily for him to take whatever he wants. And Tony does-- gripping onto narrow hips so roughly there's sure to be finger-shaped bruises left for days, grinding his own hips forward to rut the stiff length of his cock into the bulge at Peter's clothed rotch. "Fuck-- can I?" he hisses, tugging at the hem of the boy's sweater, and at the answering sobs of "please, _please_ " the man practically rips the fabric off-- to reveal the heart stoppingly gorgeous sight of a pink leaking cocklet and creamy skin, all wrapped up in delicate black lace.

  "Peter," he groans, a punched-out sound that echoes through the kitchen. "Oh fuck _, baby boy._ Look at you, shit, you're gonna be the death of me."

  "I wore them for you, Mr Stark," the teen whimpers, and with a guttural grunt Tony's hips snap forward uncontrollably then because Christ, that's the hottest thing ever and he's dangerously close to blowing his load just from those words alone, spoken in such a lilting sweet voice. "B-bought them after I, I saw... the pictures on your computer when you weren't looking-- oh, god..."

  "Yeah? You caught me looking at those filthy pictures, sweetheart? Wanted to be like the pretty boys this old man jerks off to, hmm?"

 

  And oh Christ, Peter actually looks like he's about to cry with how dangerously on the verge of tears he is right now, clearly approaching the edge more quickly than Tony had thought; that small red mouth hanging open behind the man's fingers, tangled lashes damp with tears and honey eyes glazed over. " _Yes, yes_ , wanna dress up for you Mr Stark, touch myself everynight fantasizing about you fucking me, so hard till I cry-- _ah!"_ the boy's incessant muffled babbling is cut off momentarily at a particularly rough thrust of Tony's hips, so brutal his whole body slams backwards. "I, I wanted you to fuck me for so long... 's all I dream about, first fingered myself thinking of you and your hands, you're so goddamn hot, ah, _nghh_ Mr Stark--"

  "You dirty little boy," Tony hisses weakly, the arousal thrumming through his veins so potent he can barely breathe, mind clouded over with unrestrained lust-- he's never felt so fucking turned on in his life, rutting against this teenaged boy while listening to him spill his filthiest fantasies. And to think the kid was _innocent_. "If I had known you were so desperate for it I would have done this ages ago, wouldn't have held myself back," he pants, voice strained with pleasure from the delicious friction of their clothed cocks grinding together. The lace panties Peter's wearing is absolutely ruined, pre-come leaking steadily from the boy's cock soaking through the flimsy material and staining it-- this obscene sight coupled with everything else makes the man's balls tighten under his heavy cock. "Let me see you mess up those pretty panties of yours, baby, fuck... wanna watch you come apart like the good boy you are. You're a good boy, aren't you Peter?"

  "Yes Mr Stark," Peter wails behind his hand, a garbled needy sound.

  "Good, then come for me baby boy. _Come for daddy."_

  The scream that rips from the teen's throat is so loud and shrill Tony has to clamp his palm down harder, until he actually hears Peter's jaw creak; body underneath his shuddering with the intensity of his orgasm as the boy spills messily into his panties, painting the lace and even the skin of his navel a sticky white-- cumming so hard at Tony's command he actually falls limp. Holding the plaint body up with one arm, the older man grips his own cock through his pajama slacks with the other, palming himself roughly until he comes as well, hissing through his teeth.

  An indeterminable amount of time passes before either one moves from their slumped positions, the both of them exhausted and panting from exertion. Tony stares down at the debauched boy, flushed all over and chest heaving as he attempts to regain his breath; and all he can think is _, 'Oh fuck... what have I done?'_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I posted this on tumblr orginally, so do check out my trash blog @im-a-goner--foryou if you haven't yet. Kudos are appreciated, and if you guys have any ideas on what those two can get up to in future chapters feel free to leave a suggestion in the comments! Luv u


End file.
